The Cost to Follow the Lion
by BrokenKestral
Summary: Each Pevensie reflects on what it cost them to be Aslan's king or queen, and what Aslan gave them in return.
1. Chapter 1 - The Kings and Queens

Disclaimer: Narnia, its people, its land, and its magic were created by C.S. Lewis and belong to him and his heirs. I just like to walk in his world quite often.

 **Peter the Magnificent**

 _We don't count the cost._

My father said it first. Mum left the room, crying, as he pulled his army boots on and put his arms through his jacket sleeves. He looked after her, and then at me, sitting at the table, and said, _We don't count the cost, son. The cost of going. 'Cause the price of staying is too high to pay._

As king, I put my people first, and the cost-it's denying myself every bit of selfishness I could ever feel as I just want some time to myself, every weariness I cannot give in to at night when the scrolls are stacked up on my desk, every temper I must keep in check at the simpering foreign visitors of state, every burden I want lifted from my shoulders. I must put that all away. Aslan first. Narnia and my family second. Myself in Aslan's paws.

The cost is battle after battle spent in blood, with giants and Calormens and evil. The cost is refusing fear and choosing faith; the cost is always, always doing what is right, no matter how easy the other road.

The cost is high. The cost is almost inhuman. The cost was determined by a Lion and an Emperor.

The cost buys my land's Golden Age. Stories that last a world's lifetime.

The cost buys my siblings' their home, their joy, and great health.

The cost buys more than I could dream of.

 **Susan the Gentle**

Peter told me once, a night he found me crying from the cutting, smiling comments of the Telmarine women, _Let it go, Su. Let the hurt go. We're kings and queens. We don't count the cost._ He put his arm around me and held me while I cried. Because he was right. We don't count the cost.

I have forgotten more mean remarks than most women hear, for being envied is the curse of queens. I have waited, night after night with little sleep, as mothers came to me for help with sick little ones. I have given, over and over and over again, to those no others had patience for. Late into the night I have listened through stuttering words and rambling sentences, hours of stories and tedium, so that a heart might be revealed and comforted.

I have watched my brothers ride away and kept my head high; I have welcomed them back in bloody litters, and spent nights by their side praying they would not die. I have wrapped their wounds with trembling hands, and stilled those hands to hold Lucy as she cried. I have not rebuked Peter when he was weary, when the weight of the crown pressed lines in his face, because I know he is paying just as I am. I have watched him suffer and said nothing. I have held back words at Edmund's troubled face as they come seeking answers to impossible situations from a man who was once a boy, because I have seen his eagerness to love what Aslan loves, so I have held my own love inside and given the freedom he needed instead.

I have taught my family of Narnia that to be Gentle is to be both strong and kind. To buy that, I have given up all right to weariness and anger, save in Aslan's presence alone.

And I have seen Narnia flourish.

I have seen my older brother's face grow rested instead of weary, just because I am there.

I have seen my younger siblings lean on my strength without fear, because they know it will always receive them gently.

I have seen myself become a queen.

 **Edmund the Just**

 _There is always a cost_.

It is what a judge or a king knows. For every sin there is a punishment. For every victory there is a battle. For every blessing, there is a cost.

And I have paid. There is a scar in my side from my first battle. There is a shiver that runs from my skin to my heart when a cold wind sounds like _her_. There is a weight on every word I speak, for the words of a judge take lives. There is a weight each time I draw my sword, for I too have been prepared for a knife. And there is a weight in hope itself, for when it's in others' eyes, it falls on me to sustain.

But I did not pay the full cost.

It was not me the witch's knife pierced. It was not me whose blood stained the now-broken table. I am given cheers; His ears were filled with jeers.

He paid the highest cost. I need not count mine.

Traitors redeemed.

Mercy given.

Narnia and myself free.

Hope in my siblings' eyes that He will never disappoint.

Peter's prayers answered and his burdens eased; Susan's strength sustained and her queenly grace; Lucy's faith undimmed and her joy upheld.

The role of judge given to the traitor - so I may give the compassion I have been given.

 **Lucy the Valiant**

The way seems hard sometimes. The times when Aslan is gone (but not far), when Peter and Edmund ride off, and Susan presses her whitening hands on the walls as she keeps her head up, and I wave and pray Aslan will bring them back again.

The times when we get messages that say they will not make it back, and I ride, ride, ride, ride with my cordial, or sometimes even fly, praying I will get there in time, that I will not arrive to bury my brother.

Or when I got older, and I learned that Aslan's love reaches the traitors, but those who will not receive his mercy recieve his justice, and I went to wars and fired my bow.

Or the times we lost Narnia. _Those_ were the hardest. Three times we went back to England, with Narnia a memory, and Aslan silent.

That was when I went to Him at night and cried. That was when joy slipped from my fingers, and faith fought valiantly to remain. When Peter and Edmund were gone to school, and Susan so far away, and the nights were dark and long. All I could do was wait.

Wait.

Wait and believe.

Those nights were hard, and only Edmund and Peter could brighten away the shadows in my eyes completely; my kings of Narnia.

Those nights were the cost of being a queen of Narnia and then a child in England, with nothing but the promise, "Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen" to hold on to. That and Aslan's voice.

But He made the way.

He visited me on it.

He breathed on me and made me a lioness.

He sang and made Narnia, and then made me its queen.

And He brought us back to live there forever.

 **Aslan**

I've been asked before why the way is hard, why death tracks the footsteps of my own. Why the cost of following me is so high; why they must leave everything, even themselves, take up their pain, and follow me.

Dearest, I paid the highest cost. I paid more than a human could ever give. And I paid it so they could live, and live as queens and kings, children of my own.

So I gave them the road that would make them royalty, and asked them not to count the cost, for such counting makes even saints bitter. Counting the cost forgets the other side of accounting; the side that shows what has been given.

Narnia.

Royal character, royal strength, royal wisdom, royal joy.

Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen; eternity itself.

And myself. There is no more I could give.

What did you give up, compared to that?

 _A/N: To give credit where credit is due, I first came up with this when I was reading "Did you know?" by Almyra. It's well worth reading, and it is Susan telling Peter she knew the cost he paid to be a magnificent king. I didn't ask if I could write this, as I'm still not quite sure what's polite and what's nonsensical when writing fanfiction, so if I should ask her permission first, would someone let me know? Thank you._


	2. Chapter 2 - Puddleglum

A/N: I wasn't intending to write more of these; but the chapter before made a difference during some dark days for a few friends, and I wanted to see if I could write more that would make a difference. Hence, this chapter and the next.  
Also, some of these lines are taken directly from _The Silver Chair_. The character, pessimism, and humor of Puddleglum belong to whomever is charged with the fearful responsibility of owning Narnia now, and I'm only borrowing them to amuse myself. Because Puddleglum, at the least, is amusing. Roonwit may be harder.

OOOOOOO

The cost will be higher, I shouldn't wonder.

It wasn't that high. A burned foot, a few bruises. There'll be food poisoning from the giants, I shouldn't wonder. Shouldn't have eaten the stag; shouldn't have forgotten the signs. Should have stopped the children when I saw the ruined city. I didn't, more's the pity. But I must make the best of it.

Now I'm back. I'm a hero, they say at the castle. But I won't get a swelled head. The other wiggles, they help keep me sensible. "Puddleglum," they say, "you mustn't think all of life will be as exciting as your one-time adventure. You've got to settle down again. Be a sober, respectable Marshwiggle again. We're only saying it for your own good, Puddleglum."

But I'll end up wandering off again, I shouldn't wonder. Looking for a door to Spare Oom in the Lantern Waste. What would I do when I get there, you ask? Find Jill and Eustace, of course. See a little of their world. See if it settles me down a bit, makes me happy to be in Narnia. Going away would make me happy to be home, I shouldn't wonder. I'd miss my wigwam if I hadn't got it with me. Maybe I'll try a boat. It'd be swamped in the first storm it sailed in, I shouldn't wonder. Crew dead, washed ashore, or never heard from again, and no one wiser. Ah, but we'd be in Aslan's country then. That might feel like home.

No, the cost of that adventure wasn't high when I went on it. Nor at the end. Till Eustace and Jill left. And it's been five years, and Rilian hasn't died, more's the wonder. But there's time yet. He comes down, now and then, and splashes through the channels to come sit on the bank. He'll slip one day and break his neck, I shouldn't wonder; and how could I be a hero then? Accused of the king's murder, cast out of the only home I have left, I'd probably be eaten by dragons before the day was out. But that's life. And winter's coming.

Cold mornings make cold channels, they say, and cold channels make me remember cold nights up north. Jill and Eustace rolled in blankets, poor cold things. They didn't sleep well, I should think. Dark nights I sit and think, and remember Harfang, and the Underworld, and the hole we came out of. It'll collapse one day, I'd venture, and take Narnia down with it. But we'll make the best of it. There might be enough of us to dig back out and see the sun again. Not me, I shouldn't wonder; eels don't bite twice.

I wonder if that's the cost; knowing the dark things that are out there. Waiting for them to happen; waiting for home to vanish once again. I shouldn't wonder if it did. Journeys are spent at the cost of home, but what does home cost? If we have a home, we must expect to lose it.

Ah, but there's one home beyond that. Aslan's country. Once I get there, I shouldn't think I'd wonder about leaving.

I shouldn't wonder if I'd see Eustace and Jill again. Be home again.


	3. Chapter 3 - Roonwit the Centaur

"' _Two sights have I seen,' said Farsight. 'One was Cair Paravel filled with dead Narnians and living Calormenes: the Tisrocs banner advanced upon your royal battlements [...] And the other sight, five leagues nearer than Cair Paravel, was Roonwit the Centaur lying dead with a Calormene arrow in his side. I was with him in his last hour and he gave me this message to your Majesty: to remember that all worlds draw to an end and that noble death is a treasure which no one is too poor to buy."_ \- The Last Battle

 _Fallen. Fallen. Fallen._

Hoofbeats underneath me, trees all around me, the dryads in them dying now.

 _Narnia is fallen_.

A prophet, I'd seen this coming; a councilor, I'd known its cost; a Narnian, it was death to me.

 _Narnia is dying_.

I'd told my king evil hung over Narnia, that Aslan wasn't here. It cost me, to come to his lodge, to see joy die in his eyes.

 _Your people bleed in your courtyard._

I'd run to tell him, run flat out. To tell a good and kingly friend-that terrible things lie ahead, and Aslan had not come.

 _Aslan, where were you?_

The cost of a prophet is wounding the king.

 _The king with his hand on his sword, a white unicorn beside him. Heading into battle alone._

The cost of this truth is stripping away joy.

 _Are there footsteps behind me?_

The cost of his rage might be his life.

 _I can hear the shouts of men._

And Narnia would fall without him.

 _Ahh! An arrow in my side! Aslan, it burns, it's deep!_

Aslan, why make me your prophet _now_?

 _I turn with sword in hand._

I followed, Aslan, followed faithfully. I never lied to your own.

 _My life would cost them their own, these three. Cowards of men, for now they hang back._

Not even when it angered my king.

 _I lower the sword, and wait for their courage. I am too weak to chase them now._

Not even when he wouldn't listen. His anger wasn't at me; he sought the truth his own way.

 _Bolder, they come forward now_.

That didn't mean the anger didn't hurt.

 _Their heads fall on the forest floor. I turn to go back to the king-of nothing._

But it wasn't me he was angry with; a prophet must remember.

 _Ten steps and then I fall; the ground, it jars my wobbly knees._

The Emperor's message; that was all, all that mattered to a prophet. Set myself aside.

 _I bend forward, panting; hands pushing on the ground. But I can't get up._

Aslan knows what is good for the king. Aslan sets the dance of the stars. Aslan knows our ending.

 _I fall on my side; this is my ending. I close my eyes and my memory pours out Narnian screams. I wish I wasn't alone._

Aslan, why did I have to be a prophet at the end? I did not mind the cost to me; the truth was always worth it. But how could Tisroc's reign be Aslan's truth? How could this slaughter be Aslan's good?

 _Breathe in. Breathe out. Slowly. Death comes in Aslan's time._

All worlds come to an end. Even Aslan's. Even the stars. Only the truth endures. It does not change in darkness.

 _Wingbeats. I open my eyes, eyes already towards the sky. Peace settles over me. Aslan isn't letting me die alone._

If I am Aslan's prophet, my death also comes at His will. And it is a little cost, for a life spent fighting for truth.

 _Farsight, great eagle of the winds. His head dips with grief for me. And for Narnia. Together, we grieve what's lost._

I am ready to surrender it.

 _He stays with me till I breathe no more._

Death comes for us all.

 _I open my eyes and see a stable_.

But death could not hold The Lion.

 _In it I see my king._

Death cannot hold His prophet.

 _In it I see The Lion._

Death is only a temporary cost.

 _When I enter it, I am home._

Truth endures forever.

 _And now, so does Narnia._


	4. Chapter 4 - Mrs Pevensie

Author's note: I never intended this to be more than a one-shot; but I have one more chapter planned for after this, and then I think I'm done-unless people have requests? It's been good for me to write these, and I'd love more ideas.

Disclaimer: Narnia and those who came to live in her belonged to Lewis originally, and are not mine; the idea for this chapter isn't exactly mine, either-I was listening to my sister talk about she wanted to keep her children from pain she had known well enough it wounded her. It was something we'd known together, and I thought about how much it made us better; and about how we never want children to suffer, but it is often through suffering that they become great. And then I thought about applying that to Mrs. Pevensie.

OOOOO

I didn't know Him by the name of Aslan, not till after I died. Not till I met Him as my four children knew Him. The Lion of Judah became a bit more real then.

I knew Him by a different name, but I knew Him. I knew Him as only desperate mothers know Him, when we had to raise families alone, during a war that never should have been necessary. When we wondered if we saw their husbands for the last time only to turn and wonder if we'd watch our children die.

And I knew the cost He required of me. The highest cost, that I would watch my children suffer and not be able to shield them. That a cost would be required of them, and I could not pay it for them.

They left for the country, and I thought, this is the cost. They left without their parents, and I stayed to work, to save those who'd paid a cost for the war that would scar them the rest of their lives. And I prayed to Him every night for my children, and thanked Him that they were safe.

And then they came back, and they weren't. They'd fallen in love with the country mansion they'd lived in, even giving it its own name of "Narnia." The professor treated them like kings and queens. They'd even-they'd grown up, there without me watching, and suddenly I wasn't left to parent alone. I wasn't left to be a parent at all.

And my four, ones I'd given birth to, they worked and lived and tried to smile, but their hearts weren't in London at all. It was rare I could make it home for them. Rare that I could give them what they gave each other, when suddenly only the four of them existed in a world none of us knew anything about. Peter with the look of a king, calm and steady and blazing with light, Susan with the grace of a queen, gentle but piercing in her beauty, Edmund with the wisdom that made me shiver and feel small and yet welcome, and Lucy with the joy that had to be heavenly. Kings and queens, sitting in my living room, while I stood outside in the doorway and ached. In so many ways they were not my own.

Only they weren't mine to begin with. He gave them to me, each a baby in my arms, a blessing He sent to rest with my husband and I. And if we prayed for help with those blessings, when Edmund darkened, when Susan lost the heart-deep grace for grace in a pair of my heels-I shouldn't find myself complaining when He answered.

When He took my own and made them His.

When every prayer I'd made for my children's hearts and souls was answered beyond what I had asked, beyond what I had imagined.

And He added a love for their father and I that only increased. If we could not offer our four a home for their hearts, we could offer them someone to love and lean on, and a place to come and rest. When Christ gave us the ability to give our children those beautiful things, He gave the two of us a family of kings and queens that were ours to love and be loved by.

One that was His, not just my own.


	5. Chapter 5 - Reepicheep the Mouse

Disclaimer: Narnia, its people, and its hold on our hearts have never been mine. I only hope to go further up and farther in with those who love it too.

A/N: Writing Reepicheep for this series terrified me. If there was ever an Apostle Paul in Lewis's works...how _do_ you write someone who truly doesn't cost the cost, but counts it all as loss compared to going to Aslan's country? May God guide my writing, because I'm in over my head. But I wanted to end this series with the viewpoint of someone who actually does not count the cost, but counts it all joy (or adventure).

OOOOO

Sword ever in hand. Feet always ready. Eyes always alert. Aslan may have made us small, but He gave us dignity, honour, and courage; He added us to His own the day He broke death's hold on the Table. We fight for His cause and for His honor since that day we first begun to speak.

Since Caspian became his king, my sword was for his side, eager for battle! Since the day Trufflehunter called me at the mouth of my hole in the bank I swore myself and my own to his service. Such glorious service! We fought his battles, shed our blood in the war, and feasted with him when we won. Aslan came, and by His word and work Narnia was freed.

Sword ever in hand, feet always ready, eyes always alert. 'Tis not a cost, but a way of life. A life I cherish.

A life Aslan gave back to me. When my band bore my litter to Aslan's feet, and the Valiant Queen herself healed me, I met Him face-to-face. And for the love my people bore me, He gave me my honour, and a lesson. And I loved Him more than before. This is the One I serve.

Sword ever in hand, feet always ready, eyes always alert. 'Tis a glorious thing to be His knight.

Narnia prospered, and I learned to be a knight in peace. Sword ever ready to defend the weak (not always the small, for the smallest can have the highest spirits), feet always ready to run where they are needed, eyes open to His will. It was good to see His Narnia prosper, and to serve it, serve it with every breath and word and thought. For it is His, and it is a glorious thing to serve.

Sword ever in hand, feet always ready, eyes always alert. Ready for His call.

He called, called my king to sea, and me with him. Called to find the one thing I had always longed for, one I had heard sung over me in my cradle. Aslan placed the call in my heart since my earliest days, and then called me away from Narnia to find what I had always been seeking. There is no cost in such a calling, only eager feet, willing hands, and eyes searching the furthest sea for the country we were heading towards-that or the edge of the world.

Sword ever in hand, feet always ready, eyes always alert. Ready, alert for the adventures Aslan sends His knights.

For adventures came, sea serpents, slave markets, magic islands, and dragoned companions. The serpent, alas, we did not kill! though we pushed the foul thing from our ship. And in the adventures He sent His knights, the slaves were freed by use of trumpet and force, the Dufflepods freed and taught to swim, and a coward and dishonest villain became a true knight of Aslan as we His knights were reminded of the sin of greed. The adventures He sends are quests indeed!

Sword still in hand, feet firmly planted, eyes looking for His face. Islands more, and then—

One last quest. Several goodbyes, "Till we meet again in Aslan's country!," and then at last, the end-and the beginning of the greatest adventure. For death is the gain of Aslan's country, home, and Him.

OOOOO

A/N: my friend, who does not, unfortunately, write on this site but betas for me anyway, said she'd love to see this written in heroic couplets. That's far beyond my skill, but if anyone is interested, please write and share the result with me, because I'd love to read it!


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